Re: Nuzgûl of the Month July 2013

A lone figure walks slowly through the wilderness. His stride is weary, as a man who has suffered many years of hardship. A wound in his side festers and pours noisome pus onto the soft green grass. As we watch, he suddenly stumbles. He tries to catch himself, but his arms fail him. He lands on his face with a soft moan. He tries to struggle to his feet, but something catches his eye. Near his head, a tiny flower nods in the spring sunshine. On the petal nearest his face, a delicate white butterfly perches. Its wings flutter in the air, struggling to stay aloft. The man stares, transfixed. He reaches out his hand and carefully, so carefully, captures the struggling insect in his palm.

"Hello, little one," he says. "Getting a drink?"

He opens his hand, but the tiny creature does not fly away, but instead sits peacefully; its wings stilled, antennae waving gently.

He smiles. "Yes, little one. You dan't need to fear me. Not Neithan!" He closes his eyes briefly. "I had another name, once. But I lost it. My mother called me Túrin, but I lost the right to that name long years ago. My mother loved creatures like you. She had a garden with all manner of plants which you and your kindred loved. I would lie in the grass and watch the butterflies dance among the blooms for hours." He smiles and shakes his head at the memories.

He tilts his hand and the butterfly slowly flies away.

"Goodbye, little one," he murmurs. "And thank you!"

I'm not quite sure exactly when in history this occurs, probably around 6 months after Túrin has left the Elves and become Neithan. The wound mentioned right at the beginning is probably for an orc skirmish...

Re: Nuzgûl of the Month July 2013

Húrin slowly opened the bedroom door. Normally Lalaith shared with her brother, but Morwen had set up a cot in their own room, to keep an eye on the child overnight. She had laughed off his fear that she too might catch the pestilence.

"Half of Dor-lómin has fallen ill; where would I go to be safe?"

She hadchased him out, though, not to disturb him when she got up.

Morwen slept on the ground beside the cot. Húrin tried to back out again, but a squeak from the door woke her.

"How is she?"

"Her fever has broken."

~-~

Morwen

"She has come," Melian declared.

Túrin looked at her, and then at the entrance to the throne room.

"Not yet, child. It will be a day before she is here. Your sister is still very small, and they cannot travel very fast."

Túrin bit his lip. It had been months since he had seen his mother, and he missed her very much. He had never said so; he was a guest, and it was not polite to complain. Yet from queen Melian's look, he thought she knew, and from the wink she gave him, he knew she did not mind.

~-~

Saeros

Three years of washing in ice-cold rivers. I need a bath, a hot bath. Túrin's stomach growled at the smell of food as he neared the hall. He hesitated, but walked on. As much as he wanted to eat, he wanted to be clean more.

Later, as he sat down with a full plate in front of him, enjoying the luxury of food he had not had to forage, kill, clean or cook himself, he was so at peace that he could even smile at that fool Saeros who sat opposite him. The Elf sneered in response, but said nothing.

~-~

Beleg

"Too close," Gwindor whispered.

"On, then." Beleg replied.

Beleg did not know how much time passed, but they must be miles away from the Orcs. They were also soaked from the rain lashing down and Túrin was starting to stir, so he halted under the doubtful shelter of a tree. With Gwindor standing guard, Beleg softly placed a hand on Túrin's shoulder to bring him further out of his stupor. It was clear that the Orcs had used him badly, for when he first opened his eyes he tried to pull away, but then lightning flashed and he recognised Beleg.

~-~

Orodreth

"Bring this answer to Círdan," Orodreth said to the messengers. "I will heed the warning of the Lord of Waters; the bridge will be cast down."

Túrin said nothing, for it was clear that he would not be able to sway Orodreth now the lord of Nargothrond had made up his mind. Ever he chooses the cautious path, the easier path… the coward's path. And yet… Nargothrond stands, and its people are safe, and his bolder brothers have long since fallen. None of this caution was his way, but Túrin would abide by Orodreth's rule while he lived in Nargothrond.

Re: Nuzgûl of the Month July 2013

Magic rings go missing; languages die; peace treaties are torn up because of misunderstandings; monsters dwell in dark places abandoned by the forces of Good; men become myth, lies become legend. Tolkien's works are full of such situations- perhaps we here at HASA can come up with some new ones?